


Grandmother Clock

by last-time-travel (Panadopolis)



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Backstory, Clocks, Family Feels, Fanart, Fluff with a Sad Ending, Gen, Mother's Day, Sort Of, Unwound Future, Unwound Future Spoilers, headcanons, that last line ouch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25824247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panadopolis/pseuds/last-time-travel
Summary: On clockwork and mothers.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Grandmother Clock

“It’s kind of you to visit, young sir,” said Cogg. “It’s too bad the missus isn’t here to see you.”

I said nothing, having carefully timed my visit for when Spring would be out of the flat and doing her shopping. Spring and Cogg were as orderly as clockwork, a quality I found comforting and, it must be said, useful.

“Now, what can I do for you?” Cogg asked. “You look troubled, young sir. Is there something on your mind?”

“This.” Without another word, I pulled up my black messenger bag and dumped its contents on the table.

Various gears and broken pieces of wood tumbled out, the remains of what had once been a half-completed clock. My third one this month, in fact.

“Oh, not on the dining table!” exclaimed Cogg.

“Sorry,” I replied, already sweeping everything back into the bag. With a pang, I realized Lady Dove would have scolded me for this.

“Forgive my lack of manners, I got… excited.” Cogg knew full well I meant ‘frustrated’.

Cogg glanced at a rogue gear. “So it’s a project of yours, then?”

“Yes.”

“Take it to the workshop, and I’ll have a look.”

I followed him out of the flat and down the staircase to the clock shop below, and finally to the back room with its grand clock.

This time he didn’t object as I dumped everything on one of his workbenches.

He cast a careful eye over the bent clock face. “A fine clock, but it’s been quite damaged,” he said dryly. “Do you know what caused the damage?”

“I stomped on it.”

“Pardon?”

“And tossed it at the wall. And yelled obscenities at it.”

Cogg raised an eyebrow. “Would you care to explain why you did these, er, damages?”

“It wasn’t turning out as I wanted.”

“You never were one to take failure well, young master,” Cogg said with a chuckle. He threw on his work apron and rolled up his sleeves. “Now, let’s get to work. So you’ve tried your hand at clock-making, but it’s giving you trouble. What part’s tripping you up, my boy?”

“It’s not working,” I muttered.

“You’ll have to be a mite more specific than that, young sir. Is it the clockwork that’s giving you trouble? I know the gears can be quite finicky-”

“That’s not the problem!” I snapped, slamming my hands on the table. “The clockwork’s fine! I can _see_ how it all fits together! It’s – it’s _everything else!”_

“Sir-”

“The woodwork! The painting! Getting it all straight and in order! It’s not right! Why can’t it be like – like _this!”_ I pointed to one of Cogg’s clocks hanging proudly on the wall.

Cogg just shook his head. “Why, that’s hardly a fair comparison. I’ve had years of experience, my boy, and you’re just starting-”

“I don’t care! I want it to be perfect! I won’t-”

I caught myself, fist in midair.

I took a huffy breath. I’d nearly lost my temper.

Cogg hurried over to me and helped me into a chair. “There, there,” he said gently, patting my shoulder.

I looked down at the table, unable to meet his eyes. I fiddled with one of the gears, trying to calm myself down.

“Sorry for yelling at you,” I mumbled.

“No need to apologize. I know how much you like to get things right. And this project must mean a lot to you.” He paused. “A gift for a special someone?”

I nodded mutely.

“A significant other? Oh, just joking, young sir,” he said sheepishly when I glared at him in response. “Then who… oh.” He rubbed the nape of his neck. “Well, that explains why you popped in when the missus was out – and why you’re so anxious about getting it done, what with Mother’s Day coming up now.”

I remained silent, sliding my gear along the table.

“Yes, I see now… Well, we’ve got an hour or two until the missus gets back. I’ll show you some of the tricks of the trade – we’ll make you into a master craftsman yet, young sir.”

*

_"Mama! Look, I made you something!"  
_

_I couldn't even wait for breakfast time; I hovered at her side as soon as she got up, eagerly waving my paper around._

_"What's got you so excited, Clive?"_

_I shoved the paper into her outstretched hands._

_She carefully read it over as if it was the morning paper; "I love you Mum!" with a big heart, as neat as my six-year-old hands could make it._

_"Oh! Thank you, Clive!"_

_She leaned down, wrapping me in a hug as she kissed me on the cheek. I snuggled close, enjoying her soft touch._

_"I love you too," she whispered._

*

The next hour flew by in a flurry of work.

We started with the woodwork, cutting out all the pieces I would need. During this stage, Cogg quickly discovered the first of the many problems I’d been struggling with.

“Are you all right?” he asked as I coughed at the sawdust for the umpteenth time.

“Yes,” I muttered automatically, then thought better of it. “No.” I sneezed again.

“Well, that’s no good. You always were so sensitive to smells and dust, my boy.” Cogg gave me a kind smile. “How about I do the cutting and sanding, and you can assemble the finished pieces?”

“No! I’m doing this myself!”

Cogg sighed, well used to my stubbornness. “Then why don’t you take a break to regain your focus? You won’t get much done when you’re all uptight like this.”

“But-”

“Clocks aren’t built in a day! They take – well, time!” He chuckled at his little joke. “You can always come back tomorrow. I’ll put this somewhere the missus won’t find it.”

I rose to my feet. Cogg was right; this was usually the part of the process where I got frustrated and ended up destroying my latest creation.

I walked down the creaking steps into the clock shop proper, the ticking pendulums like a soothing lullaby.

Clocks lined the walls, each one a proud trophy of Cogg’s handiwork. So many shapes, and sizes, and colours; a clock for every conceivable occasion.

By contrast, my own clock was currently several misshapen hunks of wood, and wouldn’t look much better once I had assembled and painted it. To say I was frustrated, even dsiappointed, with my creation would be an understatement.

It was a twisted irony that I had never been good at working with my hands. I could _design_ things just fine, and understood how everything fit together. But my hands were too unsteady, too clumsy to ever bring my plans to life. No matter how well I saw the parts going together in my head, my fingers just could not make them _fit_.

*

_"Today is a special day," Spring called from the door of the room. "Do you know what day it is, young master?"_

_I said nothing, staring out the big picture window of my room._

_"You should make your mother something special," she hinted._

She's not my mother, _I wanted to say, but couldn't._

_"That's all. I... I'll leave you now, I suppose." The door clicked shut._

_Later I sat down at my desk and wrote out a note, as neat and prim and proper as the thank-you notes I now had to send out at Christmastime._

_It was just that: a thank-you note. Thank you for giving me a new home. Thank you for adopting me._

_There was no "I love you"._

*

I worked a bit longer after my break, but didn’t make much progress. Cogg finally talked me into leaving for the day.

The next day, I was able to get Spring out of the shop under the pretext of wanting a jar of my favourite jam (which incidentally was only sold in a shop halfway across the city).

Cogg was waiting for me in the back. To my chagrin (and, admittedly, relief), he had sanded down all my pieces from yesterday.

We got to work hammering the pieces together. Soon all that was left to be done was the clockwork mechanism and the painting.

“I should be able to get the rest of it done on my own,” I said as I carefully wrapped up the project and put it in my bag. “I’ll come if I need any more help.”

“Sounds good,” said Cogg. “Now, I don’t want any… accidents to happen, you hear?”

I nodded. “I’ll be careful. And I won’t stomp on it if anything goes awry.”

*

_"Here, I've brought you something."_

_I held it close so she could see; her eyesight was failing her now._

_"What is it, little dove?" Her voice was raspy, but still held its characteristic tone of kindness._

_I lay it down on her lap._

_"A white rose. You said that was for peace and love, correct?"_

_She gently ran her wizened hands along it; I had taken care to remove the thorns._

_"I... I just wanted to thank you for taking me into your family, and caring for me like your own son. And that I... I love you."_

_I lay my hand on hers now; she squeezed it back._

_"I love you always..." she whispered. "Never forget that."_

*

I returned to my makeshift workshop, set up in a part of the mobile fortress where I wouldn’t be disturbed. I already had all the materials and supplies I would need. (When I had managed to create a war machine right under Dimitri’s nose, getting some paint cans and other sundries for my own use was a trifle.)

Arranging the clockwork mechanism was the first enjoyable part of the process; I liked the click of the gears, and the sharp scent of the metal. It was almost like doing one of the jigsaw puzzles my parents used to set up in our sitting room. ~~  
~~

Lost in thought, the mechanism quickly fell into place.

I sighed. Back to tedium.

Next came screwing in the clock face, just as Cogg had showed me.

Once safely secured, I paused to take in my handiwork. Here was a perfectly serviceable, if slanted, wooden clock.

Now came the dreaded part. _Painting_.

It was fortunate I had changed out of my blazer for the work, for the paint had rather a mind of its own and ended up in all the places it wasn’t supposed to go.

After much cursing, the first layer was done. While waiting for it to dry, I took a rag and wiped up all the stray, errant specks of paint. Messes and other imperfections were simply intolerable in my presence.

I worked through the second coat, then the finish. It was awful and streaky, but I was relieved it was finally over.

I left the clock to dry overnight, then brought it to Cogg and Spring’s place the next day.

Spring wasn’t at her usual spot behind the counter; Cogg must have gotten her out of the shop for my arrival.

“Just take it to the back room,” Cogg said to the blue bundle in my arms.

I nodded, strolling towards the gigantic clock in the back.

And then came the familiar creak of the front door, and the twinkling of chimes.

I shot a look of concern at Cogg, feeling a rush of panic. _Now what am I supposed to do?_

“I’m here, dear,” Spring’s voice carried through the shop. “I expect you’re in the back, as usual?”

She froze once she saw me awkwardly holding the clock as if it was a baby. Or a bomb.

“Er… happy Mother’s Day, Spring,” I said after a pause.

“Oh,” Spring said in surprise. “But-”

Cogg held up a hand. I silently thanked him; the sudden interruption had almost made me lose my nerve.

“I know it may be unexpected, but I wanted to make something as thanks for caring for me all these years.” _After Lady Dove’s death,_ though it didn't need to be said.

Spring carefully took the clock from my hands. “Why, you didn’t have to thank me like _this!”_ She practically cooed when she saw the small white dove painted on the front; it hardly mattered that the wings weren’t straight, or that the paint was streaky. “Did you make this yourself, young sir?”

“He sure did!” Cogg said proudly. “He insisted on it – but I did show him some of the ropes.”

“I know it’s not very good-” I said apologetically.

 _“Clive!”_ Spring exclaimed. “It’s beautiful, little dove!”

I felt myself blush; Spring and Cogg hardly ever used my real name, too used to the formalities of our former household.

“Oh, no need to get so embarrassed,” Cogg said. “Here, why don’t we keep chatting over a cup of tea?”

I nodded in gratitude, already heading out to start the kettle.

We wiled away a very enjoyable afternoon over tea, scones, and jam.

The clock was still in its pride of place on Spring’s counter when I brought the professor and his apprentice to Future London's clock shop months later.

“Hey, that one looks different from the others,” Luke remarked.

Spring smiled. “Oh, that one wasn’t made by Cogg - it was a gift from a special someone, dearie.”

I turned away from the others, hiding my smile – which turned into a frown.

At least Spring and Cogg would have one good thing to remember me by.

**Author's Note:**

> I made some accompanying fanart (to be strictly accurate, the story was inspired by the fanart!).


End file.
